It's For a Case!
by darthsydious
Summary: For Writingwife83! Sherlock is investigating series of thefts in Venice and Molly is accompanying him. The case is drawing to a close, and Sherlock is finding it harder and harder to remember they're only pretending to be a happily married couple. It's just for a case, after all. Isn't it? Sherlolly fluff.


"What on earth have I gotten myself into?" Molly wondered aloud, staring at her reflection. She stood in the ensuite bathroom, adjusting the strap of the gown once more. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with her appearance, but she couldn't help but fuss. All right. So she was in Venice, one of the most romantic cities in the world, with Sherlock, the very man her heart was not ever going to let her call a mere 'friend' (she'd made peace with that long ago), in a dress that fit her like a _glove_. All part and parcel to their cover-story, she and Sherlock were supposed to be honeymooners, which allowed them to tour the city free of suspicion as he investigated a series of thefts. With the city-wide masked ball fast-approaching, the Venetian elite were eager to have the thief (or thieves) put away before word got out.

Molly adjusted the neckline once more. She was sure her boobs shouldn't be this far up, or the neckline that far down. She'd have a talking-to with Anthea next she saw her, knowing she and Mary had absolutely had something to do with what she was wearing. To thank them, obviously. Thus-far, every single one of her sundresses and bathing suits had made the consulting detective nearly short-circuit, and Molly was a little ashamed to say just how much of a thrill she derived from it.

A short rap on the door made her jump.

"Honestly, Molly, stop fussing, I am sure whatever Anthea selected for you is fine."

"Yes, yes I'm ready," she sighed heavily. Giving herself one last once-over, she swiped a finger along her lower lip, seeing the red lipstick she'd applied was in place, she reached for the door and opened it. Sherlock stood, as usual, looking spectacular in his tuxedo, the git. "Well I'm ready as I'll ever be."

Sherlock was staring. He was aware he was staring, and he couldn't bloody make his face catch up with his brain or vice-versa. He'd been having a very difficult time remembering he was only pretending to be a happily married man. Molly certainly didn't make it a chore to love her. She was, of course, the most suitable person for this case. His relationship with her was always good, especially good since the reichenbach incident, and his return after the so-called return of Moriarty. He counted her as one of his greatest friends. He was always comfortable with her, and she with him. They worked well together, and Sherlock was glad he'd invited her along. His feelings for her had begun to change long before this case, it was no revelation to him that he might possibly feel something more than close friendship for Molly Hooper. This particular case, however, was making it increasingly difficult to not act on those feelings. He'd found himself all-too-happily taking her hand, or putting his arm around her waist, all to keep up appearances of a happy, newly married couple. If she happened to lean into him, or kiss him because 'that's what honeymooners do', he was ashamed to say that he was only pretending that it bothered him. If his grip on her hand tightened, or if his palm happened to rest on her hip a touch longer, he tried to convince himself it was for the case. If Molly knew, she never said.

He suddenly realized he'd been standing, staring at Molly in the doorway of the bathroom for almost fifteen seconds.

 _Idiot! Say something!_ His brain was screaming at him to form some kind of sentence. Something nice, something to make Molly smile. (Her smile was so very, very charming of late)

"You…um…hey." Molly frowned, looked at herself and then back up at him.

"Hi?" Sherlock blinked, as if realizing. He'd had a lovely compliment in his head. Apparently he had kept it there.

"We should go, don't want to be late," he said quickly, business-like again.

"Ookay." Befuddled by his reaction to her (though she was certain she should be flattered), she took his arm and let him lead the way.

"I've called a taxi for us," Sherlock informed her as they headed downstairs. "Unfortunately, because we're still undercover, I'm afraid we'll have to make-do with the old rowing style, rather than the motorized." Molly's heart skipped a beat. She'd wanted to ride in the older gondolas since they arrived.

"Why?" she asked, trying her best to appear as if she weren't about to jump for joy.

"We aren't due at the ambassador's until half-past-eight. Almost all of venetian society is going to be there tonight, if we're to be seen, we want to be seen taking our time." That was, quite possibly, the worst excuse he could have ever thought up. Molly was studying him carefully. She wasn't an idiot. She'd noticed Sherlock's reactions to her during the case, when she'd lean into him, his hand automatically pressed her hip. When a suspect started flirting with her, he'd put a stop to it rather quickly, coming up behind her and pressing her neck (in a terribly sinful fashion she wished she could reciprocate later just to make him squirm). Lately as soon as they'd stepped out of their room, he'd take her hand, before they were even in site of people. He was the one to initiate contact with her. Sherlock Holmes, even for a case, did not initiate contact first. It was as if he was eager to be close to her. It took her most of the case in Venice to understand Sherlock was having an internal struggle.

"That makes sense," Molly nodded, deciding whatever was in Sherlock's head, she'd play right along. After all, this case would only last so long, indeed, if tonight went as planned, they would be back in London in a day or so. If Sherlock insisted a gondola ride was for the good of the case, then hang it all, she'd go along.

At the entrance to the hotel, Sherlock held the train of Molly's gown, his free hand gripping hers as she stepped down into the boat. She sat carefully, scooting over to make room for Sherlock. He sat down with a grunt, the seat lower than he'd thought. He situated himself, tugging at his jacket so it wasn't pulling uncomfortably. He was fairly pressed against Molly, and he realized it was impossible _not_ to practically have her in his lap. To add to his troubles, the taxi that had arrived had a canopy, making their ride a private one. Oh this was _so_ not a good idea.

"Not much room, is there?" she asked softly, trying hard not to lean on him.

"Nonsense," he replied. "It makes our job much easier. The ride is almost an hour long; I suggest we get comfortable, honestly Molly, you act as if you'd crush me, lean back." She obeyed, leaning against the cushions, body angled towards him. His arm settled against her shoulders, fingers toying with the ribbon at her shoulder.

The boat swayed gently as the gondolier steered them easily through to the not-so-busy lanes. Down quiet side-streets and avenues they glided, beautiful music wafting out of restaurants. Molly rested her head against Sherlock, releasing a sigh of delight. He automatically began to stroke her shoulder.

"This is lovely, even if it is just for a case," she said quietly.

"Well…" he swallowed thickly. "We…could always come back." Without lifting her head, she looked up at him.

"Why?" He turned to look down, not realizing just how close their heads were. Almost nose-to-nose, in fact, and he had absolutely no intention of sitting back.

"Well…that's what friends do…isn't it? They go on holidays together," she nodded, eyes wide, red lips curving up into the tiniest of smiles.

"I like to travel with my friends," she said softly. He was sure she'd inched closer.

"There are benefits to traveling with friends," he continued weakly. "To…defray the cost and…"

"And?" she prompted, good grief her mouth was almost on his!

"There is also the enhanced experience of sharing-"

"I like to share," she nodded and closed the distance.

 _Bliss!_

Sherlock should have known it would come to this, and as he drew Molly closer, he couldn't say as he was even a little bit sorry. Out of breath, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Another benefit," he stuttered. "Assistance in clothing…zippers and hooks can be tricky," Molly nodded mock-seriously.

"Oh yes."

"And I think as your husband I should be the one to do the assisting."

"It's only fair," by now she was grinning at him, her smile all-too-knowing and far too charming.

"You're laughing at me."

"No," her expression grew more serious. "I promise I'm not, but if you meant what you just said, let's talk about it, properly, tonight after this case is finished. Agreed?"

"Agreed," he nodded. Her smile grew mischievous again.

"We should kiss on it."

"Oh definitely," he ducked his head, capturing her mouth once more. "For the case…you know."

"Of course!" she laughed against him, happily complying.


End file.
